


Hot Cross Buns

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baker Dean, Cop Cas, Dogs, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a baker, Cas is cop. Cas wants Dean's hot cross buns... or does he?</p><p>(What the hell are summaries, don't look at me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Cross Buns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostwriterly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterly/gifts).



> Written for my darling, Annie's, birthday (which was forever ago).   
> Cross posted from [tumblr](http://herowords.tumblr.com/post/108218839556/hot-cross-buns).

It’s a wonder he hears the sound over the blare of his music.The bakery doesn’t even open for another hour, but Dean knows Zepp better than just about anything, and the ding of a bell is definitely not a part of “Ramble On”.

He’d argued with Benny over that bell for a long time, insisting they didn’t need it, that the one above the door was sufficient enough, but Benny won out in the end and so now day-in and day-out Dean has to endure the grating sound of that fucking bell whenever they get impatient customers at the register.

Which apparently is now.

Dean berates himself for forgetting to lock the door behind him when he came in this morning and rushes to turn down the music.

He peels himself out of his floured covered apron and grabs a clean one as the sound comes again.  _Ding. Ding._

_Fucking bell._

When Dean approaches the counter he’s met with a weighty blue stare from a man dressed to the nines in a cop uniform. The look comes complete with a chiseled jaw line, and perfectly bowed lips, and as Dean studies the other man, it kinda feels like Dean’s lucky day.

"You know, the only people who ring that bell are the elderly, and soccer moms who think I owe ‘em something ‘cause they ordered a dozen specialty cookies for Billy’s baseball team." Dean points out as he steps up to the register.

The officer looks down at the bell, then back up to Dean. “Is it not there to be rung?”

"Depends on how impatient you are."

"I wasn’t sure you could hear me over your music." The man points out.

Dean scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’m actually not open for another hour, just forgot to lock the door when I came in this morning. I wasn’t expecting anyone so I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

"I can come back…"

Dean waves a hand at officer Blue Eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It was my fault. What can I get you?”

The man doesn’t answer immediately, as if he’s still contemplating coming back when the store is actually open, but after a beat he finally recedes. “I need a dozen donuts.”

"So the stereotype is accurate." Dean mentions with a chuckle as he punches in the man’s order.

"What do you mean?"

Dean gesticulates at the man’s get-up. “Y’know, cop, donuts.”

The comment earns Dean a confused head tilt and a furrowed brow from the officer.

Dean’s smile wanes. “Forget it. Bad joke. You know what kind of donuts you want?” He moves over to where fresh donuts are cooling in the glass case he put them in just several minutes prior.

”I was told to just get an assortment.”

"You were told, huh? Sounds pretty serious."

"I’m learning Joanna Beth is very serious about collecting on her bets."

Dean lets his arms rest on the pastry display, a few details about the man clicking into place at the mention of Jo. This must be the new K9 officer Sammy was telling him about. “Jo Harvelle?”

The officer nods. “You know her?”

"If you call her being a pain in my ass for more than half my life ‘knowing her’, then yeah. I know her."

A little frown forms on the man’s face, and Dean chuckles. “I’m Sam’s brother. You know, Sam Winchester? The PD?”

"Dean." The officer says, enlightenment dawning on his face. "Yes, Sam said to ask for you when I came in. I had forgotten."

"Lemme guess, told you I’d give you a discount for knowing him?"

The officer huffs a small laugh. “I think it was actually more along the lines of me being a public servant, but yes. A discount was mentioned.”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s probably got a hard on for you because you’ve got a dog. Quickest way to that doofuses heart is through a big, slobbery animal.”

"Sadie is not slobbery."

And yeah, okay, maybe hearing the guy say it is a little bit adorable, but Dean Winchester does not use the word adorable. At least, not out loud.

"Whatever you say, officer." Dean ducks his head into the glass case and starts pulling donuts out two by two. He arranges them in a thin cardboard box, and throws in an extra for Sam, whom he knows will be at the station for most of the day with back to back clients. "So what was the bet?" Dean asks, sliding the box across the counter.

"Jo and her mother said they could get me drunk in under an hour. Normally I’m fairly immune to the affects of alcohol, especially in that short amount of time, but somehow they did it."

Dean smirks. “The Harvelle’s can get anyone drunk.”

"So I learned this weekend."

"Sounds like I missed a party." Dean moves back behind the register and applies a discount to the officer’s purchase. It’s not much, just a few dollars, but Dean wants to make good on Sam’s word. Plus the guy is smokin’ hot, and Dean’s not above knocking a few bucks off a purchase here and there when he wants to be friendly.

"Unfortunately I’m not very exciting when I’m drunk."

Dean’s eyes trail over the man’s form and his mind wanders into dangerous territory. The uniform alone is enough to get Dean a little excited, add to that the fact that the officer fills it out nicely and is probably the most attractive guy Dean’s ever seen, and just like that everything about the guy is that much more interesting. “I don’t know,” Dean says with half a smile, “you look like a pretty exciting guy to me.”

"Then my looks must be more deceiving than I realized." The officer’s smile is warm as he pulls the box off the counter and hands Dean a debit card. As Dean runs the card he takes a quick glance at the name on it.  _Castiel Novak_.

"There’s an extra donut in there for Sammy. Tell him I said ‘hi’, yeah?"

"Alright."

"See ya around, officer."

"Good bye, Dean."

As he watches the officer leave, Dean makes a mental note to go home and grill Sam for every last detail he can get on officer McHotty Pants.

  
The next morning officer Novak is there again, first thing. This time there are aviators perched on his nose, and hot damn he was attractive before, but now he’s down right sinful.

"Lose another bet?" Dean practically wheezes when the officer approaches the counter. He watches ardently as Castiel’s long fingers move to push the sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head.

"I’m being hazed," Castiel explains.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Come again.”

"Apparently because I’m new it’s my duty to pick up breakfast every morning."

Dean nods knowingly. “They can be a tough crowd down there.”

Castiel shrugs. “I didn’t mind coming back.”

Dean tries not to process those words too long, but there they are anyway, running around in his brain like a hamster in a wheel. For a moment he and Castiel are caught in a silent staring match, Castiel’s eyes criminally blue, until finally Dean blinks, dragging himself back to the present.

"So, more donuts?" Dean asks, clearing his throat.

"More donuts."

Dean pulls a box from where it rests on a pile of other boxes and goes for the donuts.

Usually it’s Jo that comes in for the goods. She’s probably having a grand old time pawning her meaningless duties off onto Castiel. Dean quirks a smile, wondering if Castiel was difficult to coerce or if he agreed easily.

The shop falls quiet as Dean works. He maneuvers in a few extra powdered ones for Donna because it’s a Wednesday and she’ll have a lot of paper work to take care of, and then he’s closing the box and sealing it with a shiny sticker that has the bakery’s logo on it.

"Anything else?" Dean inquires, pushing the box across the counter top.

Castiel shakes his head. “Not today. But I’ll be back. I hear your cinnamon rolls are worthy of an orgasm.”

Dean feels his entire face flush, a little bit of his neck, too, and he lets out a weak laugh. “Well, fuck,” he breathes.

Castiel chuckles. “Not my words,” he offers.

Dean rubs a hand over his chest, willing himself to settle.  _Get a grip, Winchester._

Castiel is still smiling when he meets Dean at the register, the smug bastard. But if that’s the way he wants to play it, Dean’s game. “I’ve got a few things worthy of an orgasm, actually.” Dean offers. He grins at Castiel, looking at him through his lashes, and watches as Castiel’s face promptly twists into surprise, then interest, then something else entirely.

"Perhaps I’ll have to try them sometime." He retorts hastily.

_Pretty and quick. Damn._

Dean throws his hands out to his sides. “I don’t know if you can handle it.”

Castiel tugs his box of donuts off the counter. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” He walks backwards a few steps before offering Dean a wink, and then he’s gone, disappearing out the door and taking his beautiful backside, and Dean’s ability to think clearly, with him.

  
In the coming weeks Castiel becomes a frequent customer to Dean’s bakery. Almost every morning he’s there, driving Dean crazy with his mop of disheveled hair and vibrant blue eyes that stay with Dean long after the officer has left. It’s a blessing and a curse all wrapped into one.

Being around Cas - as Dean’s taken to calling him - makes Dean’s chest feel too tight, and like he can’t breathe properly, but it’s nice, somehow, rather than uncomfortable.

“You have a crush,” Sam tells him one night.

Dean scoffs and heaves a gooey slice of warm cherry pie onto his plate. “I do not have a crush, Sammy, I’m a grown man.” He settles into a seat across from Sam, shaking his head at his brother’s accusatory stare. “This isn’t court, Sam, you can put your lawyer face away.”

“Dean,” Sam continues, ignoring Dean’s attempts to divert the conversation, “the other day you were _whistling_.”

Dean looks at Sam, his fork full of pie and halfway to his mouth. “So.”

“ _So_  you never whistle.”

“I don’t have a crush, Sam.” He shoves the too big bite of pie in his mouth and smiles at Sam’s look of disgust. It’s not a family dinner without Sam scowling at him from across the table.

“Is that why you’re working on his car this weekend?” Sam wonders. His voice comes out casual, but Dean doesn’t miss the knowing glint in his eyes.

“No pie for you,” Dean grumbles.

Sam’s responding smile is wide.

  
Dean isn’t at Singer Auto when Castiel drops his squad car off early Sunday morning, and he spends a good few hours lamenting that fact. He’s there when the officer comes to pick it up though, and is entirely unprepared for a casually dressed Castiel; distressed holey jeans, and a gloriously fitted cotton t-shirt might just be Dean’s new favorite thing.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says when Castiel enters the grimy office, Sadie trailing close behind him, sniffing the air curiously. He offers the man a wide smile, and Jo, who’s been driving Dean crazy for the past couple of hours, hovering by his side as he fills out paper work and yapping his ear off as he changes the oil in Cas’ car, let’s out a huff that’s laden with implication.

Dean shoots her a dark look.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is warm, gravely in the most delicious of ways, and Dean represses a shiver because yeah, the guy definitely does it for him. And yeah, maybe Sam was right.  _Bitch._

For a moment, it’s quiet, Castiel’s eyes roving over Dean’s frame, and Dean unable to move. He scratches at his neck self consciously and shifts on his feet. He’s covered in grease and motor oil, probably looks a mess, but Castiel doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“So your car’s finished,” Dean offers lamely.

Castiel smiles. “Great.”

Dean heads for the door that leads into the garage, and motions for Castiel to follow.

When Castiel is seated behind the wheel of his squad car, taillights disappearing in the dust as he drives off the lot, Dean finally feels like he can breathe. He drops himself into the desk chair in the office and scrubs his hands over his face.

“He’s got the hots for you, y’know,” Jo states, resting a hip on the desk. She folds her arms over her chest and smirks down her nose at Dean.

“Mind your own business, Joanna.” Dean mumbles as he enters information on the computer. Having Sam meddle is one thing, having his surrogate little sister do it is another.

“I’m telling you, Dean. Why d’you think he’s in the bakery so often?”

Dean clicks a little too hard on the mouse and refuses to move his eyes from the computer screen. He will not give Jo the satisfaction of looking her in the eyes. “You guys send him in for donuts all the time.” Dean answers easily.

Jo lets out a laugh. “Is that what he told you?”

Against his better judgment Dean finds himself staring up at Jo, eyebrows raised in question. “Yeah?”

“Dean, he  _offers_  to pick up breakfast almost every morning. He’s making up excuses to come see you.”

Dean falls silent, his brain whirring as it processes Jo’s words. When he doesn’t say anything Jo rolls her eyes.

“God, you guys were made for each other. You’re both lovesick idiots.” She saunters out of the office, shouting over her shoulder, “Just ask him out, Dean!”

Dean is stuck on the idea for the rest of the day.

  
Monday morning Castiel comes in for cinnamon rolls. Dean’s thought about Jo and Sam’s nudge to man up and ask the guy out, but he’s conflicted. What if they’re completely wrong and Dean ruins whatever it is he’s got going with Castiel?

Instead of asking Castiel out, Dean walks around the counter and offers him a donut. “The cinnamon rolls aren’t out of the oven yet,” he explains, leaning a hip against the counter top.

Castiel nods and reaches for an old fashioned donut. “Thank you for taking care of my car this weekend,” he says before taking a bite.

Dean nods, shoving half a jelly donut in his mouth. “Sure.”

It’s quiet for a beat, Dean just itching to know what’s going on in the officer’s head, but not allowing himself to open his mouth unless it’s to bite off another piece of donut. He finishes the whole thing in about three bites.

When he offers Castiel a sheepish smile, Castiel smiles back, eyes crinkling at the corners, lips tugging into an soft curve. “You have jelly-” he reaches out and brushes a thumb along the corner of Dean’s lips, the tacky filling of the donut he just inhaled transferring from his skin to Cas’. “there.”

Dean watches, without breathing, as Castiel dips his thumb into his mouth and sucks off the jelly filling, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

If there was ever a sexually charged moment in Dean’s little bakery, this was it. He feels taught, a wire waiting to snap, and there’s an energy akin to an electric shock thrumming in his veins. He sways into Cas’ personal space, his eyes fluttering closed as Castiel presses closer, and Dean’s whole body screams _Kiss me, goddammit, kiss me_.

Seconds pass, minutes,  _hours_ , and if Dean holds his breath for any longer his kiss is going to come in the form of mouth to mouth resuscitation.

"Dean." Castiel’s voice is rough, like he’s been gargling gravel and broken glass for most of his adult life.

"Mmmm?"

"My cinnamon rolls?"

Dean’s eyes fly open, and he finds hazy blue eyes assessing him, like Dean is a frog under a microscope, and suddenly Dean realizes he - along with Jo and Sam - was very, very wrong about the officer’s intentions.

He takes a shaky step back, his cheeks flushing against his will, and nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sure,” he says, “I’ll just uh-” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder and offers Castiel a weak smile before turning his back to the other man, and letting out a weighted breath of air.

 _This is why you don’t go after dudes,_  Dean reminds himself as he stalks towards the kitchen,  _can never tell what the hell they’re thinking._

Behind the privacy of the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the shop, Dean rests his hands on one of the large silver tables he and his staff use to prepare pastries on, and drops his head until his chin is resting on his chest.

He takes a few deep breaths, steeling his nerves and willing away all errant feelings of want in his system before righting himself and boxing up the cinnamon rolls he made for Castiel (that bastard) first thing this morning.

_Cinnamon rolls. That’s what he wanted. Goddamn, fucking cinnamon rolls._

When Dean steps back out into the shop he’s less than ready to face Castiel again, but he puts on a smile anyway, like he can’t still feel the phantom press of Castiel’s chest against his own.

Cas is standing in front of the register, a statue in a K9 Unit uniform, and Dean tries to keep the ice from his voice as he thrusts the box into the officer’s hands with a short, “Here you go.”

"Thank you, Dean."

"Sure. Anything else?"

Castiel shakes his head. “Not today,” he replies, and his voice is so steady Dean kind of wants to reach out and shake the guy just to see if his parts rattle.

Instead he just responds with a simple, “Kay.”

As Castiel makes his way out of the shop, Dean catches sight of Sadie in the front seat of the Cas’ squad car. She tilts her head at him (like she can even see him) and offers him a sympathetic expression.

Dean waves her off and shakes his head.  _Fucking cop and his fucking dog._

Dean tries (and fails devastatingly) all day not to think about where he went wrong in interpreting Castiel’s intentions. Things had seemed so clear between them until everything went to shit this morning, and now Dean wonders if he ever had an accurate read on Castiel in the first place.

He’s never listening to Jo or Sam again, that’s for sure.

He’s so worked up about the almost-kiss-that-never-was-going-to-be that he accidently doubles his lemon bar recipe and ends up having to take half of them home. As delicious as they are (if Dean may so himself) they never sell as quickly as his other desserts and he’ll end up with a bunch of day old lemon bars by the end of business day tomorrow. Dean’s lemon bars deserve more than sitting in a glass case, being offered at half off because they aren’t “fresh”.

His clean up job is shoddy at best, but it’s been a long day and he’s the boss so no one can tell him to do it better. As he shuts off all the lights and starts to lock up, he only has one thing on his mind and that is going straight home, slipping into his worn, flannel, pajama bottoms, and droning out in front of “Dr. Sexy MD” re-runs while singlehandedly making sure none of his lemon bars go to waste.

When Dean steps outside though, he finds two cars in the parking lot where there should only be one. In the parking spot next to Dean’s baby is the all too familiar squad car that’s been parked in front of his bakery every morning for the last couple of weeks. The windows are rolled down half way, and Sadie’s head hangs out the passenger side window, her tongue lolling to the side of her mouth as she pants.

Dean averts his gaze to where Castiel is leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed over his chest. He cuts a trim, angular silhouette against the glowing twilight and despite the disaster that was this morning, Dean still feels want bubble in his gut.

Dean’s always known he’s a glutton for punishment.

"Forget something?" Dean asks as he comes to stand in front of Castiel.

"You could say that."

"Are cryptic statements a part of the cop gig, or is that just you?"

Castiel smiles with his eyes, and a warmth forces its way into Dean’s heart.  _Damn beautiful cop with his damn beautiful eyes._

"I believe it’s just me."

"Figures," Dean grumbles. He and Castiel stand staring at one another for far too long before Dean realizes neither of them has spoken in at least 20 seconds. "So did you need to go back in or-"

The rest of Dean’s words die on his tongue as Castiel presses him up against the side of the Impala and slots their mouths together. His kiss is warm, insistent, demanding, and after the surprise clears from Dean’s brain, he allows Castiel to take anything and everything he wants.

Behind them Sadie is going wild in the car; hanging out the driver’s side window, barking and yelping at Castiel’s back as he settles in close to Dean and cups either side of Dean’s face.

The box of lemon bars in Dean’s hands is being smashed between them, a corner of the box biting into Dean’s abdomen, and in a movement quicker than Dean can track, Castiel reaches down and tugs the box out of Dean’s hands and sets it on the hood of Dean’s car without ever breaking their kiss.

With both hands now free Dean grips at Castiel’s hips, yanking him closer, gasping into the other man’s mouth as Castiel tugs on Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth.

"Why didn’t you do that earlier?" Dean breathes when Castiel pulls away. His hands are still on Dean’s face, his thumbs trailing idly over Dean’s cheekbones as they study each other with hazy eyes and kiss swollen lips.

"Because I’m an idiot," Castiel admits.

One side of Dean’s mouth quirks up; “Sounds about right.”

Castiel smiles, a bright, gummy thing with all his teeth showing, and then moves in to press his lips gently to Dean’s. It’s sentimental, and all sorts of feelsy, but Dean dives right in and relishes the moment because he’s making out with Officer friggin’ Novak. Hell fucking yeah.

"Hey, officer?" Dean says as Castiel kisses at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

"Hmmmm?"

"I got a question."

"Alright."

Dean can’t keep the smile off his face. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Castiel pulls back and stares at Dean stonily. “How long have you been holding that back?” He inquires.

“‘Bout two weeks,” Dean admits with a grin so full of cheek he can almost feel it.

Castiel shakes his head, squeezing Dean’s butt in the palm of his hands in response and offering a smirk when Dean lets out a yelp.

"So you off duty for the night, or did you just come to kiss and run?"

"I would never kiss and run," Castiel responds.

Dean’s smile is wide and genuine. “Great,” he says. “How do you feel about lemon bars?”

That night Dean does exactly what he’d planned to do. He goes home, changes into his most comfortable pajamas and settles in front of the television screen with a batch of lemon bars in his lap. But instead of doing it alone, he’s got a handsy officer, and an over excitable pup to keep him company. Which, really, is even better.


End file.
